Real Self
by Lynn Bartlett
Summary: Masao fic. "Sometimes my imagination is nearly as satisfying as the actual act."


Title: Real Self  
Author: Lynn Bartlett

Disclaimer: Fuyumi Soryo. Not mine.  
Notes: Abuse. Yaoi fantasies. Not Pleasant, but Masao is a serious f-up cookie. Written for the temps_morts "guilty pleasures" challenge, within forty minutes. Hard to say it's a true "guilty" pleasure, because it's Masao... but I think it fits. Set before Masao enters, but heavy spoilers for his character.

  


*****

Smile, Masao. Those girls are looking at you.

I look over at them, and they smile back at me. My smile isn't wide, but rather a slight tugging of the lips, and I avert my eyes under lashes that are too long to be called anything but effeminate. I hear them coo and one calls to invite me for tea, but I feign shyness and turn away. 

Everything I do is feigned. Were I to show my real self... what would happen? Surely there would be consequences, and most likely they wouldn't be ones I would desire. So I smile and pretend, and in some ways, things are better like this.

This world is my stage, and everyone else is my puppet.

I am beautiful, so beautiful. They love me, think I am precious. With wide beautiful eyes, they all adore me and want my time.

Foolish of them. Dance with fire, and you'll get burn.

I've learned that it is this fascination that they hold for me that makes me strong. I will never be physically powerful, like the boy who saved me that day. But my power is more subtle, and maybe more dangerous. No one sees the man behind the curtain.

Still, I dream of that boy, the one who exuded the very essence of war... I want him, want to be him, want him to look at me with those eyes full of nothing but power.

An angel with a demon's face, I think. He and I... are two of a kind. He would understand the way I am, understand the truth. People are weak, and we live by destroying others.

I want to see him again. I long for him. I imagine the feel of those strong hands gliding over my body, sometimes gentle, sometimes not. Sometimes they're covered in blood... 

I dream of sleeping in pools of blood, and he comes, a fiery god who is ruthless and domineering. Sometimes I let him take me, the way I let Yuji do whatever he wanted. Any position, anything he asks... There's a satisfaction in knowing that without a victim, there can be no abuse...

But other times, we fight. I rage against him, and claw and scream. We fight to top the other, fight the other for dominance. I know it's a losing battle, but he needs a fight, and I'm his most worthy rival. I am cunning and sly, and as I yank his hair, pulling out a handful, he growls at me before slamming me against a wall.

He hits me, and I suffer his blows, feeling the harsh heat of his tongue drinking my tears. Sometimes he takes me so hard it borders on rape, but you can't rape the willing... and for him, I always yield. My body sings in pleasure and pain, walking that fine line so carefully that the slightest misstep would lead to serious injury.

But I've been hurt before, and if it's him doing the hurting...

Invariably, I wake up in bed, my sheets damp with my own semen. My cheeks feel flushed, and I realize that he is not there... yet. Someday, I promise myself.

But for now, I wander the streets, waiting for my first year of highschool to start. He will be there, and perhaps... 

My body tightens at the thought. There is a majesty to his presence, and even if I can only watch him, that will be enough. He is glorious, and one more set of eye on him won't make a difference. Everyone watches him.

How can you NOT? I wonder.

"Let me help you," I tell the old lady who is trying to walk across the street. She's seventy if she's a day, and the harsh rush of traffic is threatening to overwhelm her.

She smiles and offers me her hand, and I help her off the curb. It is hard to keep from squeezing her fragile fingers too hard, because I can imagine the sound they will make when they snap, the look of horror on her face, of disbelief...

Fascinating. How fascinating it will be. Sometimes my imagination is nearly as satisfying as the actual act.

For today, I will pretend I care. Perhaps that is a greater sin than being my true self. Because that implies caring where there is none - and one day, I will be in the position to act upon my real wishes...

...isn't that an amusing thought?

END


End file.
